As I mentioned earlier my Mum was somehow gifted with a knowledge of how ‘things might be’. The daughter of a coal miner she had, apparently, been sent to a convent school. Her family home was bleak to say the least but somehow she seemed to understand there were ‘better things in life’ than she could ever have experienced herself and crucially with the right approach they were achievable. At an early age she would tell me off for speaking badly, easy to do on Mersyside where the standard accent is guttural and ugly.
At the age of 8 she sent me to elocution lessons. Mrs Butterworth would make me rehearse poetry reading. Diction and voice control were important skills to learn as were developing a sense of rhythm and delivering intonation at the appropriate point. She must have been very good because one day she asked to speak to my Mum and she told her that I should enter the local Music and Verse festival. The appointed poem was identified and practice commenced. I can remember clear as day that Saturday morning when my name was called and ‘mini me’ set off to stand on the stage in front of a huge audience. I cant remember the poem totally but it was called Danny Murphy and it was about an old man who had lost his ability to have fun. It started with the phrase ‘he was as old as old could be his little eye could scare-sly see and ended on the joyful note that laughter rendered him as ‘young as young could be’. In some ways quite dark for an 8 year old. Anyway I won the class by a mile got all sorts of accolades and then for good measure I won The John Macdonald Cup for the outstanding performance in verse speaking. Wow! Well done Mrs B. On the following Saturday evening I was in the cast for the gala performance. There was tap dancing, singing,musical instruments of all types and each of the category cup winners was asked to perform. I was quite a small 8 year old and I remember well the feeling standing for the first time under the glare of spotlights which probably helped as it obscured a packed hall and audience. I did my thing and, probably because I was so small got a standing ovation.
It was the start of many festivals many medals and many cups. I still have most of them now. On occasion I would even win money which Mum would usually take from me. I could not blame her because she was working hard herself in order to give me opportunity.
At around ten someone suggested at a festival that I had real talent and Mum took me to the Sheila Elliott School of dance and drama in Liverpool to see how I got on. Now I won’t lie it was all more than a bit unnerving. First of all to my eyes about 95% of the people were girls. Most older than me and whilst I went to a mixed primary school it took some acclimatising to. Worst of all the way to the room where we were to train and perform was next to the changing room and I remember the trauma at seeing a whole load of aspiring ballerinas scantily clad getting ready for their class. One screamed ‘A boy’ ! I was horrified at the time.
Any way I had but one lesson and the woman in charge contacted my mother. The Liverpool Repretory company are looking for a child male actor to be in the play Summer and Smoke by Tennessee Williams. I think your son might not the bill. The audition went well but again huge embarrassment as two of the actors decided to ‘enjoy each others company’ not suspecting a young person was about to enter the dressing room i had been assigned.
Three weeks later I was back stage dressed in knee length shorts a bowe tie and tweed jacket. The humm of the audience apparent to my ears. I was being paid £3 10 shillings a week a veritable fortune! ‘Beginners please’ was the cry from the head stage hand. The lights dimmed and I took my place behind a winged statue waiting to spring out and surprise a young girl. My role and the girls formed the prologue to the play and we played the two key figures as children explaining in our 15 minute slot the complications of their early life. The foot lights came up and Rebecca Watts (her actual name) sidled across the stage. I sprang from behind my hiding place popped my cheek with my finger to startle her and started with ‘Hi Preachers Daughter I’ve been looking for you’. Both our reviews in the papers and indeed in ‘Stage’ were complimentary- ‘Dennis Elliott showed unnatural talent for one so young’ or similar Some of my script was cut owing to complaints about its nature referring to my dead mother and the smell of her body. Someone had written in expressing disgust that some one so young as me should utter such words. As soon as we finished we would change and head off home. Saturday was the odd day out because there were two performances and on the occasion of the matinee Rebecca and I took a curtain call, heady stuff. In many ways it was wonderful but i had just started at my secondary school and three weeks of late nights were not good. To make things work one of my teachers came to watch the play and as soon as he realised it was me acting. He stated treating me as some kind of celebrity in his class which contra to what you might expect made me less than popular with my new peers. I will never really know if I could have been an actor but I suspect I could. I dabbled once or twice in later life but never took it seriously. However many times in my business life, making after dinner speeches or just being a best man I found that standing up in front of a large number of people was something I took in my stride. Thanks Mum.
One particular event in later life stands out as it was so weird. Liz and I have a very old friendship with David and Mary Laing. The truth is we had many incredible adventures with the Laings I will recant some of them later. Close neighbours our daughter Jo spent countless hours riding with the Laings youngest Vicky. They lived in a magnificent stately home at the centre of Mackerye End probably the most magnificent home I have ever seen. Any way cutting a very long story short there we were on the occasion of the Laings ‘something’ wedding anniversary and David, much to Mary’s customary disgust had pushed the boat out. We were standing on Waterloo Station in our finery awaiting the Orient Express. David had reserved a whole carriage and we and a large group of their other friends were to be joined by a professional group of actors who were playing out a murder mystery. Personally I hate the things but that is not the point. Any way having arrived in Brighton our party had arranged to view the magnificent Brighton pavilion and the cast of the mystery had arranged to stage a scene in the pavilion itself. An unsuspecting audience of visitors to the pavilion making up the intrigue and so as to wrong foot those in own discreet party who were engaged in trying to unlock the clues to who dunnit.
One of the actors came up to me in a panic. I am so sorry he said but one of our number was supposed to rendezvous with us at Brighton and he has been held up in a traffic jam. We need some one to play a gangster. but don’t worry you will be fully dressed up in a costume you will be a clown. I was quickly dresses in bubbly red wig my face whitened and a false round nose placed on my real one. Large baggy checked trousers oversize shoes and a yellow tail coat made up my look. I was given a machine gun and a table tennis bat on which my words were written. Just a handful of sentences.-to be delivered in thick Chicago accent was the add on. Wit until you hear machine gun fire was my last instruction then emerge from your hiding place and off you go! No rehearsals nothing. I stood there thinking what the hell have I agreed to when a some pall went up and the sound of machine gun fire rang out. Some one in the audience screamed. I leapt forward delivered my lines and it was over. In truth I nailed it. My makeup wiped off my face washed I returned to our party. No-one knew it was me although some commented as to where is the clown? I even heard some compliments. The actors gave me a signed copy of a book regarding The Orient Express which I still have if anyone wants to doubt the tale. In it they thank me for my intervention. I have no idea who did it but on the day I did and it was quite an experience.
Tales of a Life Well Lived 